By the Bridge
by SiriuslySarcastic
Summary: Set in TDA, where that small clip from TDA Aftermath II, of Duncan and Gwen on the bridge, wasn't the only meeting they had there. The story of how they went from rival contestants, to best friends, to something more...
1. Chapter 1

**And here we are; my first Total Drama fanfiction! This is a Gwuncan (My OTP! :3), and is set during TDA. Also, there are two minor OCs, who won't play much of a role, and are just there for the sake of the story. This story really just explores the Duncan*Gwen friendship, and how the relationship morphed into something more.**

* * *

Chris McLean looked fabulous. But like all sexy men, this fabulousness took money (Just ask Justin); what with the dermatologist and the costume designer and the make-up artist and the hair-care specialist. Of course, that led to the problem of faulty sets, possibly fatal challenges and terrible living conditions for his campers – ahem, crew. Not that any of that mattered. Those kids were sturdy enough to not need the luxuries hat Chris enjoyed. Or, at least he liked to think that.

What _was_ a problem, though, was the camera equipment. Because of budget cuts, there simply weren't enough hidden cameras to record the participants when they were at their most embarrassing. Only half of their entire new venue had been covered; the rest was filled with old sets that they wouldn't be using for the challenges. That was supposed to mean that the contestants wouldn't go there, but you never knew teenage kids.

So, Chris McLean, being the really hot genius that he was, had come up with a simple solution.

He leaned back in his plush swivel chair, his feet propped up on his mahogany table (note; get intern to polish table), surveying the two people before him – a boy and a girl, who looked like they were in their late teens or early twenties. They were nothing spectacular; blue eyed brunettes, the girl's hair in a longish pixie cut, and the boy's close cropped. But even though their faces looked exactly the same, their general appearance was pretty different. The girl had two piercings in each ear, and wore a deep purple tank top and ripped black jeans, with red high-top Converse and lots of bracelets on her wrists. She also had on heavy eyeliner that emphasized the blue of her irises. The boy, on the other hand, was much more clean-cut. He was dressed in a simple white button-down over a grey undershirt, and wore faded jeans with sneakers. The girl was slouching, idly studying her purple nails, while the boy stood tall and straight, his alert eyes on Chris.

"So," said Chris finally, looking down at the sheet in his hand, "Camilla and Michael, huh?"

"Yeah," said the girl, Camilla.

"Cam and Mike," mused Chris, then chuckled, "Get it? Cam and Mike? As in, camera and microphone?"

He surveyed their blank faces, and rolled his eyes, "Geez, you guys are hopeless. Oh, well, it's a good thing I'm not paying you that much."

"You aren't paying us _anything_," Cam pointed out, and Chris grinned.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, "Now if you do your job well, I'll double your pay!"

"But you aren't –"

"What are we supposed to do?" Mike interrupted his sister, shooting her a waning glance, "You didn't specify."

"Oh, about that," said Chris, "You know how this is a reality show, and we're supposed to show you every tiny bit about these teens' personal lives, and give them no privacy?"

The twins nodded, and he continued;

"Well, your job is to use this," he held up a video-camera, "And follow them around and rob them of whatever privacy they attempt to gain. By sneaking of set, or whatever. I want good stuff, capisce?"

They nodded again, and Mike took the camera. Chris shot them a winning smile.

"Make me proud, interns!"

* * *

Duncan was bored. He realized, being on a show that put you in imminent danger _all_ the time probably should have been reason enough to keep him on his toes, but hey, he couldn't help it. Maybe it was because they were only two days into the competition? It was just that, the time between challenges was always _so_ lame, just like on Season 1; the much-needed reprieve from close-death was often replaced by him becoming annoyed with Harold's general geekiness or Owen's funky digestive system.

Yesterday's giant robotic monster had kept him excited for a while, but now the adrenalin rush had faded in after doing nothing but laying in bed and eating sucky food. And Duncan _needed_ the rush. His parole officer knew only too well.

So here he was, on the Outer Space set, looking around idly, when he felt his stomach rumble. He groaned, looking down. He had skipped dinner that night; one look of the strange green goop in his bowl had dispelled his appetite. But only now was he feeling the consequences of his actions. A slow smile spread across his face as a small idea popped into his head. With renewed vigor, he headed back to the trailers.

* * *

_Footsteps. Darkness. Ragged breaths. _

_She ran like her life depended on it, which she knew it did. There was no sight; all was black; and no sound; for all was silent. She was aware of everything and nothing all at the same time, she knew that she could not stop, and she had no idea as to for how long, how far or how fast she ran._

_And just as she ran, she was suddenly falling, tumbling into the nothingness, shadowy hands wrapping around her, sending tendrils of cold into her spine. She felt one hand, cold and clammy, pressed against her mouth, and her eyes widened; she knew that this was the end, this would be her last moment, the hand on her mouth would suffocate her slowly and painfully –_

Gwen sat up suddenly, covered in sweat, her eyes wide and alert, only to be forced back into the mattress, her head hitting the pillow, a hand still clapped over her mouth. She turned her charcoal eyes to the attacker; the silhouette was unfocused, yet vaguely familiar –

"Shh!" hissed a voice, "You'll wake up the others!"

Her expression of horror turned to one of immense irritation, and she caught hold of the offending hand, yanking it away from her mouth.

"Duncan!" she spat, "What the hell? How did you get in here?"

He straightened up, shrugging, and she could see that he was fully clothes, and was carrying something long in his hand.

"The door was unlocked."

"You mean you pried open the window with that crowbar?" she asked dryly, and he grinned, "Damn right, sunshine."

"Okay," she said, massaging her temples, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm about to commit some serious B&amp;E, and I need a partner in crime," he said. She paused, raising an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

He sighed, "I'm hungry, and Chef has a tub of ice-cream in his fridge."

She raised a dubious eyebrow, "Chocolate?"

He smirked, "Would I call you if it wasn't?"

A slow grin spread across her face, and she tossed the sheets aside, all her irritation at him melting away, "Wait outside. I'll be there in five."

* * *

"Cam," hissed Mike, nudging his sister. She sat up, looking around blearily. The two of them were sharing a small tent a little distance from the cabins; it was all Chris would provide until they were willing to 'prove themselves'.

"What? What'd I do?"

"Duncan and Gwen are sneaking out," he murmured, "We should follow them."

"Oh, screw Chris and his stupid internship," she groaned, "Let the kids have their privacy."

"Hello?" he demanded, "College? Business experience?"

"How does working with stupid Chris McLean count as business experience?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"If we want to go to film school, this will really help our chances, and you know it. Come on, Cam."

She sighed dramatically, sitting up, "Alright, let's go."

* * *

The two of the contestants ran through the array of sets, stumbling over misplaced props, bumping into each other and laughing the whole way, a tub of chocolate ice-cream under Duncan's arm and two spoons in Gwen's fist. They reached a set of a small bridge over a river - one of those typical romance movie settings - and skidded to a halt, bending over, completely out of breath.

"That…was….._awesome_…." wheezed Gwen, clutching her sides, a weak grin on her blue lips.

"Totally," agreed Duncan, sinking to the ground and placing the tub beside him, "I think….my armpit….is frozen….."

She laughed, sitting down next to him and wiping the sweat from her brow. She held out a spoon to him, and he took it gladly, placing the tub between them and pulling off the lid.

"_Hel-lo, _gorgeous," he cooed, taking a heaped spoon and stuffing into his mouth. His posture immediately relaxed, and he leaned against the bridge, a moan escaping his lips.

Gwen snickered, "Dude, that sounds so wrong."

"No talk," he sighed, taking another mouthful, "Just ice cream."

She raised an eyebrow, filling her own spoon and putting it in her mouth. Her eyes widened, before they drifted shut, and a pleasured whimper left her throat.

"So….good," she murmured, and he cackled.

"Now _that_ sounds wrong," he said, and she grinned, punching him in the shoulder.

"Thanks," she said suddenly, and he looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Thanks? For what?"

"For letting me be your partner in crime. This is pretty cool," she shrugged, embarrassed, looking away.

An easy grin spread across his face, "Like I'd ask anyone else."

"Really?" she asked, turning back to him, one eyebrow raised, "None of the guys come to mind?"

"Hmm," he stroked his chin, pretending to think, "Geoff, Harold, DJ, Owen, Trent, Justin. None of 'em are exactly 'partner-in-crime' material, y'know? Besides, I didn't need to rule them out to pick you. You're easily the coolest person on the set."

A grin spread across her face.

"Thanks, man. You aren't so bad yourself."

""Don't hold it back, honey," he teased, "I know you've got a thing for me."

She snorted, "Yeah, right. I happen to have a boyfriend."

"Oh, he's a total beard," said Duncan, grinning, "You're just using him to distract yourself from my irresistible charm."

She burst out laughing, "You are so full of yourself!"

"You know you love it," he flirted, spoon dangling from his lips.

She rolled her eyes, "You wish!"

He chuckled to himself, enjoying the back-and-forth banter, before his teal eyes skimmed over to her once more.

"So, Goth-girl," he said, "Tell me a little something about you."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "What do you want to know, Bad-boy?"

He paused, surprised that she was so ready to talk to him, when he asked, "What's your favorite color?"

She laughed at the vagueness of the question, before saying, "Blue. Well, teal. You know, like my highlights. Yours?"

"Black," he replied easily, smirking, "Like the rest of your hair."

She laughed again, and then said, "Uh….favorite band?"

He shrugged, "Lots of them. Guns 'n' Roses, Iron Maiden, Breaking Benjamin, Pink Floyd, Nirvana….."

She looked at him curiously, before saying, "We listen to practically the same music."

"And we have the same taste in ice cream," he said, waving his spoon around, and he leaned forward with a flirtatious smirk on his face; "We must be soul-mates."

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes, "Whatever floats your boat, Mohawk."

"Mohawk?" he asked, grinning, "That's a new one. I think I liked 'Bad-boy' better."

"What do people usually call you?" she asked idly, taking another mouth of ice-cream.

"Jerk; that's the common one. Then there's 'asshole', used by a lot of girls. 'Pervert' is another favourite of the girls. Then there are the usual. Idiot. Freak. Wannabe. Motherf- " he counted the names off his fingers.

"Okay, I get it!" she interrupted, laughing, "Geez, you aren't very popular, are you?"

He shrugged, "Not really. But then again, who cares, right?"

She leaned back ad sighed, looking up to the sky, "I've always wondered what it would be like; being popular. Like Bridgette or Lindsey."

He made a face, "Alright, Bridgette, maybe I get. But _Lindsey_? Do you want to have a brain the size of a pigeon's?"

"Hey," she retorted playfully, "Pigeons are _way_ smarter than that!"

They looked into each other's eyes, before bursting out laughing.

Duncan turned to her and grinned lazily, "You don't need to be popular to be awesome."

She paused, touched by the sudden compliment, when he added, "This was fun, Goth-girl. We should do it again sometime."

"Totally, Mohawk," she agreed, smirking, "You know where I live. Break in anytime you want a chat."

"I will," he nodded, standing up, and then taking her hand, deftly pulling her to her feet. They both glanced at the empty tub of ice-cream , then at each other.

"Chef will notice that's missing," mused Duncan. Gwen shrugged.

"We could just fill it with mud off the forest set and put it back in the fridge."

Duncan bent down, picking up the empty tub, and draped his free arm around Gwen's shoulders. He shot her an easy wink, "A girl after my own heart."

She rolled her eyes and began to walk to the kitchen beside him, "Whatever, Cassanova."

* * *

Camilla looked down at the camera in her hand, a smug smile on her face.

"Well, whaddaya know," she said, "We did get something good, after all."

She nudged her brother, and stood up from her hiding spot, "Come on, Mikey, let's give this to Mister I'm-So-Full-Of-Myself."

Michael sat there on the ground, frowning to himself.

"What about Courtney?" he asked finally.

Cam snorted, "What, that psychotic, power-hungry, backstabbing chick that Duncan, for some totally retarded reason, is attracted to?"

Michael nodded, "Yeah, her. The pretty brunette. If we give this footage to Chris, he'll air it, and she'll be pissed as hell."

Camilla shrugged, "So what? Mike, it's a _reality_ show. Crap like this happens."

"Can we just…" he began hesitantly, "See how this relationship of theirs turns out?"

She sighed, "Oh, fine. I'm way too tired to argue. Let's just get back to the tent. I want to sleep."

Her brother stopped, frowning, "Wait, what about that ice-cream? Doesn't Chris need to know?"

Camilla cackled, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. But maybe if we're lucky, this time, it will."

* * *

**So, what do you guys think? I realize now that there is already a Mike, later in the show, but this is set way before that, and we won't encounter him here. So, what do you think of Camilla and Michael? How do you like the Duncan*Gwen friendship?**

**The cover art, which is so totally awesome, is done by Fukari. You can see the rest of her Total Drama art on fukari-dot-deviantart-dot-com. Be sure to check it out! She does the _best_ Gwuncan art!**

**Reviews are love, people! A short one will do :) And it just might encourage me to update faster *wink, wink, nudge, nudge***


	2. Chapter 2

**Back with another chapter, sooner than expected! (All my Naruto and HP followers, yes, I know you wish I'd be this fast for you people.). This one covers Alien Resurr-Egg-Tion, and Riot on Set. Along with a bit more character development for Michel and Camilla, the minor OCs.**

* * *

Gwen sat up in her bed, leaning against the headboard and massaging her temples tiredly. It had been a tiring day, what with the alien movie challenge, but somehow, she couldn't get to sleep. She was worried about Trent. Something was….off about him; she just couldn't tell what.

She sighed, swinging her legs off the bed, the floor of the trailer cool against her bare feet. She stood up and pulled out her suitcase, and quickly got dressed before quietly exiting the cabin. She made her way over to the boys' cabin, and to her surprise, the door easily opened. She frowned. Didn't the boys lock their door? Who knew when Chef Hatchet would decide to bring back the Escaped Psycho Killer with a Chainsaw and a Hook? What would they do then?

She shook her head in disbelief at their stupidity, and let herself in. Her gaze quickly skimmed over the sleeping figures, never lingering on images she undoubtedly did not what in her head, and lingering for quite a while on Justin. She stopped at a top bunk, with a skull carved into the side.

The bunk was empty.

Gwen took a step forward, confusion written all over her face. That _was_ Duncan's bed, right? Then where on earth was he?

"Looking for someone, sweetheart?" a deep voice whispered suddenly, lips brushing her ear. She swiveled around sharply, her eyes wide, before scowling at Duncan's grinning face.

"Duncan," she hissed, "Quit sneaking up on me!"

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest and an annoying smirk on his face.

"If you wanted to spend the night with me, you should've just said so," he pointed out casually, earning a swift left hook to the shoulder. He winced, recoiling, before shooting her a wink, "Oooh, feisty."

"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes and smiling despite herself, "Why are you up and dressed anyway?"

"Today's alien challenge gave me an idea," he shrugged, "Why don't we go to the bridge, and I'll tell you?"

She nodded and smiled, "Lead the way, Bad-boy."

* * *

"What's that?" asked Gwen when they finally reached, indicating to the case like thing under Duncan's arm. He sat down on the bridge, patting the space beside him, and grinned.

"I'll start from the beginning. After the alien challenge, I had this pretty great idea, which took the careful planning and expertise of a criminal such as myself. It started with me going to Chris's trailer - which I might add, is pretty darned swanky – and messing with the air-conditioning; basically, getting it to spew hot air instead. So Chris woke up in the middle of the night, and realized, "Whoa, man, is it just me or did this place suddenly get a whole lot hotter?""

Gwen laughed at his almost-perfect Chris impression, and then gestured to him to continue.

"So, he woke up Chef, who told him to fix his damned AC himself, because Chef had better things to do….like sleep."

"I almost feel sorry for Chris," mused Gwen, "Wait for it….yeah, the feeling's gone."

"And then," Duncan continued, "Chris, who wouldn't be able to fix an AC if his life depended on it, decided to cool himself down. Maybe he would fix himself a drink. Or he could –"

"Eat some ice-cream," Gwen completed, her eyes wide, "And then?"

"I mixed some chocolate sauce with the dirt we put in there, so he didn't get it at first," said Duncan, grinning, "But after a few mouthfuls, he began to get queasy, and then bolted to the bathroom to throw up. And _that_ is when I snuck in there, undetected, and got this."

He held up the object, which Gwen now realized, was a laptop. She stared at him in wonder, and then laughed, "You are _so _awesome!"

"I know," he said, smirking smugly, "Turns out, Chris has _Alien Chunks_ on his computer. Along with a whole load of embarrassing pictures and video, which I sent to Geoff, taking advantage of Chris's Wi-Fi. I think Geoff mentioned something about starting up a talk show for the Total Drama series. He could use those later."

"Again," she said, "You. Are. Amazing."

"Kiss me later, honey," he winked, and she punched him in the shoulder, before opening the bag of M&amp;Ms they had taken and placing it between them.

He opened the laptop, starting up the movie before leaning back comfortably, popping an M&amp;M into his mouth.

"Now let's see some aliens get _screwed_."

* * *

"I love these two," said Camilla, staring down at her video-cam in awe. Michael raised an eyebrow at her, looking worried.

"Cam," he said, "You heard what Duncan said about the ice-cream, right? Shouldn't we have just told Chris?"

She snorted, "Hell, no! This is what makes the job all worth it! You wouldn't believe how much I'm starting to love this!"

"Alright," said Mike, standing up, "You know what? Maybe we should just give the feed to Chris now, and get it over with."

Camilla rolled her eyes at her brother, "If he finds out that we knew about the ice-cream, he'll fire us, and then probably sue us. No, Michael, we aren't giving this stuff to Chris. We'll keep their first two meetings to ourselves, and see if they ever have one that doesn't involve the ice-cream. _Then_, we'll give Chris his feed."

Michael sighed, "Oh, alright. Let's just go back to the tent."

"No way!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with glee, "_Alien Chunks_ is playing!"

* * *

Gwen and Duncan's third meeting didn't really involve one of them sneaking into the other's cabin. Duncan was already sitting at the steps of his trailer when Gwen came out of hers, fully dressed. They had a sort of unspoken agreement about when they would meet, and somehow always knew the exact time to sneak out.

"You've kept me waiting, sweetheart," he drawled, and she rolled her eyes, walking over to him just to punch him in the shoulder.

"Shut up and walk, Mohawk."

They strolled over to the bridge in almost complete silence, occasionally bumping into each other and sharing secretive grins. Passing the kitchen on the way, they also managed to snag a bottle of Nutella, along with two spoons and a packet of cookies. They finally reached their destination, balancing the Nutella jar on the railing while Gwen opened the cookie packet.

"You know," she said finally, pulling out a cookie and slathering it in Nutella, "You were _really_ good today."

"You mean with the acting?" he asked, taking a bite out of his own cookie, a contented smile on his face.

"Yeah," she said, "I didn't know you had it in you. Did you see Chef crying?"

Duncan nodded, and then made a face, "Yeah, but I don't act. I hate acting. And singing. It's just another way to make a fool of myself. And all that artsy stuff is pretty girly. Something for Harold to do, or DJ, but not _me_."

He groaned, running a hand through his Mohawk, "I just hope Marcus didn't see that."

Gwen raised an eyebrow at him, "Who's Marcus?"

"My older brother," he said sheepishly, "He's nineteen. There's also Channing, fifteen, and Leo, who's twelve. They're the ones I pull all my pranks with. Marcus is a little better than me; he doesn't get caught as much, but has also been to juvie. Leo's learning to become just like his big brothers, but Channing's all for discipline and rules." He made a face, "I guess he takes after my dad. The rest of us are our mom's kids. Ma was pretty tough back when she was in college and met Dad."

He colored slightly and looked away, shocked that he had opened up so easily to Gwen.

"Cool," she said, grinning at him, "I have a little brother. He's twelve too; his name's Xavier. He's pretty awesome, though I won't tell him that to his face. We also have a lot in common - like music. I play the drums, and he plays the guitar. In fact, I got him a Gibson guitar for his twelfth birthday."

"Yeah?" he said, and grinned, "I wish Marcus was as generous as you. I play the guitar too, but most of the money goes to paying for a lawyer for me."

He snickered to himself, apparently finding this amusing, before asking, "What about your parents? What are they like?"

"Divorced," she said dryly, and looked away, her voice now neutral, "Mom's alright; she's sweet and kind and the typical motherly type. I don't remember my dad much; he left us when I was six and now lives in America, married to some other woman."

A silence ensued, with Gwen eating through their stash of cookies and Nutella and Duncan staring at her in sort of an awkward quiet.

"Well, there's _one_ good thing that came out of today's acting challenge," he said finally, changing the topic completely.

She raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the sudden shift in conversation.

"What?" she asked dubiously, not knowing what to expect.

"I finally got you to admit your feeling for me," he said, winking at her.

She stared at him incredulously, "I'm sorry; I must have been unconscious while this happened, because I have _no _idea what you're on about."

He pretended to examine his nails, a smug smirk plastered on his face, "Don't you recall saying I was hot, sexy and stud-like?"

She took one look at him and flushed slightly before laughing.

"Are you kidding?" she demanded, "I just said that so you'd take the challenge."

"You're in denial," he said, "You know you want me, Gwen."

"As if, pretty boy," she said, rolling her eyes.

He scowled at her, "I am _not_ pretty."

"Keep telling yourself that, cutie," she said, winking at him before letting out a slight shriek as his hands shot out towards her, deftly picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder.

"Take it back," he said flatly.

"Duncan!" she cried, "Put me down!"

"Take it back," he said again.

"No!" she snapped, "Now put me down, dammit!"

"Alright," he shrugged, and her eyes shot wide open. She opened her mouth to backtrack, but not before he lifted her up and easily tossed her light frame into the water below. She hit the surface, and then sank into the depths that he figured was deeper than he thought.

Duncan leaned over the railing, studying the water before his brow creased with worry.

"Goth-girl?" he called tentatively, "You alive?"

He staggered back as a spray of water his him in the face and Gwen resurfaced, thrashing about and hacking violently. She swam towards the shore of the set, and Duncan walked over to her. She stood upon the bank of undoubtedly fake grass, shivering while she rubbed her arms in the hope of getting some circulation going in them.

"I…h-hate…y-you…" she chattered, glaring at him.

He frowned, "Cold?"

"Y-Yes… y-you ass!" she snapped, before dropping to her knees, her hands reaching up to wring her hair.

He studied her form, realizing she wasn't joking, before saying abruptly, "Take off your clothes."

Her coal-black eyes glared at him, "H-Hell no!"

"Not like that," he said, rolling his eyes, "You're clothes are wet, and are making you colder. So, take 'em off –" He pulled his black skull shirt over his head and tossed it to her –" And put this on."

She stared at the shirt in her hand, and then back at him, while he rolled up the sleeves of his white undershirt. Unlike the skull shirt, this was not as loose, and was actually quite muscle tight, showing off his toned chest and abs and –

She shook her head, snapping herself out of her silly reverie, and nodded shortly, "Th-thanks….Now _t-turn around!_"

He rolled his eyes and complied, and she knew he could hear the sound of wet clothes falling onto the ground, resisting the temptation to look. He had already seen her underwear (talk about embarrassing), and her swimsuit, which was the most skin she'd ever exposed. But he also knew that she would kick his butt without a second thought if he took a peek; that poor Escaped Psycho Killer with the Chainsaw and the Hook had taught him not to mess with her….Right?

"Done," she said finally, and he turned. A small pile of clothes lay in front of her, and she stood there in nothing but his shirt and her boots. The shirt; slightly loose on him, was almost off-shoulder on her and came up till mid-thigh, the folds accentuating her slim frame.

"Quit staring," she said, glaring at him again, though she knew she was probably blushing. His teal eyes looked up and down her frame once more, before an easy smirk appeared on his face, "Damn, you really do wear my shirt better than I do."

She was blushing; of _course_ she was. Only Trent ever paid her compliments like that. And Cody, she supposed….

She looked to him boldly and smirked, covering up her embarrassment, "Of course I do. I _am_ much better looking than you."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, grinning. His hands reached up to the back of his neck, and he undid the strap of his dog-collar, handing it over to her, "Let's see if you can pull off the complete punk look."

She took the choker and put in on, thankful that she had managed to transform the intimate situation into something more platonic.

He cast an appraising look at her, before showing a thumbs-up.

"Not bad," he mused, grinning, "You make a pretty hot punkster."

"And you look far too vanilla without any black on," she said, grinning, "But not bad either."

"You mean you think I'm sexy, right?" he asked, winking. She rolled her eyes, punching him in the shoulder.

"Dream on, Mohawk."

* * *

"So dreamy," sighed Camilla, staring at Duncan in his muscle-tight white shirt. Michael glared at her.

"Cam," he said, "Are you even taking the video?"

The girl's eyes drifted down to the video-cam in her hand, which had drifted into an awkward angle, taping a pathetic view of the fake bushes instead of Duncan and Gwen.

"Oops," she said flatly, not very sorry. Michael groaned.

"Cam!" he reprimanded, "We need to get something for Chris, dammit!"

"Cool it, Mikey," she said, rolling her eyes, "We'll get him his feed. Until then, sit with me and enjoy the eye-candy that is Duncan, why don't you?"

Michael rolled his eyes, leaning against a fake-tree.

"Justin is way cuter," he muttered, looking away.

* * *

**Yes, Michael is into boys. So, what do you think about the latest scenes? You know I love feedback, it really makes my day. If you want to follow or favorite, please review as well, no matter how short it is.**

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; Enjoy!**

* * *

"She likes me," murmured Duncan, slashing at the headboard of his bunk, "She likes me not. She likes me. She likes me not. She –"

"Duncan," hissed a very familiar voice, and he looked up to see the door swing open, moonlight streaming in and illuminating the figure that was his best friend.

"She likes me," he finished, putting in one last slash into the headboard, forming a perfect skull, before sticking the knife in his hand into the wood and standing up, making his way to the door. He noticed that Gwen was already dressed, as usual, but was wearing his spiked collar. A grin spread across his face.

"Come on," she called, and he followed her out, snagging a black T-shirt from his bed and pulling it over his bare torso. They made their way to the bridge, not bothering to get any food on the way, where she perched herself upon the railing. She swung her legs as she looked down onto the water, her back to him.

"Something bothering you, sweetheart?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what's bothering me," she sighed, not looking at him.

"Trent, huh?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I'm worried about him," she said, "I don't know anymore. He was this laid-back, cool guy when we were on Season One, and now he's become so obsessed with _me_, and he just isn't that guy anymore, and I don't know what I should do, and it's driving me _nuts._"

"Hey," said Duncan, folding his arms and placing them on the railing, "So you're just meeting the new side of Trent, huh? It's like with Courtney. There's the side of her that's the bossy, psychotic control freak that I sometimes want to _strangle_…"

Gwen turned to him, a smile on her face, "But?"

"But," he said, "There's another side to her that's all full of danger and surprises, which is the part that I fell for."

"Hmm," she mused, looking back up to the sky, "Y'know, we should've trashed the boat instead of the bus. That way, we'd still be at Camp Wawanakwa. You can see the stars better from there."

"You a fan of star-gazing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded.

"I've always been enamored by the sky," she said, "Every night, I'd perch myself on my window sill, and stare up into the stars. Wondering what it would be like to just jump off and _fly_, all the way up there….."

She shot him a wry smile, "Silly, huh?"

He shook his head, utterly serious, "Not at all."

She grinned brightly, and then pointed upwards, outlining a cluster of stars with her finger, "I know most of the constellations by now. That's Hercules, right there. Do you know any myths about him?"

He shrugged carelessly, "Eh, mythology never interested me. I know he's a really strong Greek dude, and something about Atlas and golden apples."

She laughed, "Well, I won't bore you with any star talk."

He nodded absently, going back to gazing at the sky. She counted two more constellations, naming the stars in them to herself, before she looked to him. She couldn't help but notice how gorgeous his teal eyes looked when they reflected the light of the moon. There was a small, thoughtful smile on his face which made her feel like she was intruding on a personal moment; his shoulders weren't as stiff as usual, his expression was serene and untroubled, and as he looked to the stars he seemed to be just blissfully happy, his form exuding that careless yet handsome look that he pulled off so easily –

She shook her head, mortified of what was going through her mind. She needed something, _anything_, to distract herself and derail the train of very dangerous thought. She turned around so that her legs now dangled on the side of the bridge, and dismounted from the railing, before turning to look to the sky.

"Hey," she said conversationally, "Is it just me, or does that constellation look like Harold pancake butt, with his spaghetti legs attached? See?"

She turned to him, expecting him to laugh or at least agree, but he just continued to stare at the stars, unaware. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I just gave you the perfect set up for a dig and you leave me hanging?" she asked incredulously, "What's your damage?"

He sighed, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow propped up on the railing, and asked, "Do you thing Courtney might be looking at the stars now?"

She felt something squeeze in her chest; a sort of disappointment she couldn't explain, before rolling her eyes and snickering, "Wow, who knew you were _such_ a sucker for the A-type."

He turned to her, a playful grin on his face, the dreamy look no longer there, and punched her lightly in the shoulder, "Wanna make something of it?"

She grinned widely, a hand going to where he had punched her, and said boldly, "You can do better than that."

His eyes glinted with mischief, and she realized what he was about to do too late, for his arm shot out and hooked around her waist, deftly picking her up, her back pressed to his chest. No, he wasn't going to throw her into the water this time.

She tussled with him, neatly turning so that she was facing him. One of her legs hooked behind his, and she tugged it forward, the both of them letting out a cry as they fell forward.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt her back hit the bridge, but more importantly, felt his torso press to hers, his face inches from the planks and his warm breath against her neck. He grunted, before placing his palms against the wood and pushing himself up, hovering over her, still dangerously close.

"Oooh," he cooed, tilting his head as he studied her, and she held back a blush, grinning at him.

"Alright, lover-boy," she said, placing her hands to his chest, "Get off me."

"Nah," he drawled, smirking, "I think I like this position."

"Perv," she accused, rolling her eyes yet grinning, "If you don't move I'll have to make you."

"I'd like to see you try," he taunted infuriatingly.

Her gaze hardened with concentration, and she moved her hands, placing them firmly on his chest, before her whole torso jerked forward to push him off her.

She should have realized that he'd be stronger than her.

It all happened at once. Her eyes widened in surprise as he budged only slightly, she moving forward so suddenly she slammed into him, her mouth crashing against his. They stayed there in a shocked silence, lips pressed together and eyes wide in confusion and surprise. His lips, she noted unconsciously, tasted of smoke and chocolate, and they were chapped yet somehow smooth –

She pulled away suddenly, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed as she scrambled out from under him, getting to her feet. She turned to see him slowly standing up, a confused look on his face. He lifted his head to look at her, his teal eyes reflecting no emotion, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Her heart was pounding against her chest and she wanted nothing more to run far, far away. One moment ago, he was talking about how much he liked Courtney, and the next, she had kissed him! Accidentally, of course, but she had just kissed Duncan! How could she? What would Courtney say?

"Well," said Duncan finally, his voice hoarse, "It's a good thing I don't have a lip piercing."

And that was when, like a deer caught in the headlights, she ran all the way back to the cabin.

* * *

Duncan walked slowly back to the trailer, his expression pensive. He knew it had been a mistake, and the look on Gwen's face had been one of pure horror, but he didn't understand why she had run. Had kissing him been that bad? He supposed his comment had been a little tactless, and maybe he should've just…..Alright, he had no idea what he should've done. He didn't even know how he felt about what just happened.

He walked into his trailer, sitting down heavily on his bunk. He looked up, spotting Harold performing some weird-ass spasm-like movements in his bed, before crying out and falling to the ground.

Duncan guffawed loudly, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

"What a loser," he wheezed, looking to Harold who was getting up slowly, glaring at him, "What, were you fighting off LeShawna in your dream?"

"Were you out in the crafts trailer, eating paint?" Harold retorted. Duncan paused, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Dude, was kind of lame insult is that supposed to be?"

"Your mouth is blue," Harold accused, "What do you have to say about that?"

His hand went up to his lips, brushing against them, before holding it up to his eyes, and he noted the blue lipstick on his fingers. Gwen's lips had had the distinctive taste of blueberry bubblegum, he mused. He remembered that, the first time he kissed Courtney, she had just puked a PB&amp;J sandwich.

Despite himself, a lazy grin spread across his face, and he leaned back into his pillow, forgetting Harold.

As first kisses went, this one had been pretty damned good.

* * *

"Now, _this_," said Michael, smiling slightly, "I think we can give."

Camilla looked at the video-cam thoughtfully, and said, "Sure. But a little editing first."

* * *

Duncan had no idea how anyone in their team had the gall to vote off Gwen. He watched as Chef slapped the handcuffs onto her wrists and escorted her to the lame-o-sine, and the scowl on his face only deepened. Damn them. _Damn_ them all. Especially Heather, that stupid bitch.

He ran past his so-called team-mates towards her. They never even got to resolve the whole kiss thing. He didn't want them to part on such a weird note.

"Wait," he called, skidding to a halt in front of them, "Take me instead!"

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. How was that supposed to help? It wasn't like she'd see it like some sort of gallant gesture. She'd probably just think that he wanted out of the game really badly.

"Alright," said Chef gruffly, deftly taking the handcuffs from Gwen and holding them out to him. Duncan reeled back, memories of being cuffed and stuffed into police cars resurfacing. There was no way he'd put _those_ on willingly. He wondered if he'd be able to convince Chris to swap Heather out for Gwen. Who knew, maybe the guy would -

"You're not getting out that easy," said Gwen, smirking at him, taking the handcuffs from Chef and walking towards the lame-o-sine, "Good luck, Duncan."

He froze, stunned by this perfectly normal exchange, before turning and walking towards the vehicle, "Gwen, wait."

She looked up, a knowing smile on her face, "About yesterday, right?"

He nodded, "I wasn't exactly -"

"Save it," she said, rolling her eyes, "What happened, happened. Oh, I almost forgot."

Her hands reached up to her neck, deftly undoing the clasp on is dog-collar, which he just realized was there. She held it out to him, smiling sheepishly.

"I forgot to return this," she said, "I did leave your shirt back in your cabin, though."

He looked at the collar in her hands, and wondered momentarily how none of his team-mates had noticed that he wasn't wearing it, before saying, "Keep it. It looks better on you, anyway."

She looked at him in surprise, before turning around in her seat and pulling something out of her back. She held it out to him; a small, black notebook with a teal heart on the cover.

"Then I want you to have this," she said, flushing slightly. He took the book, running his hands over the cover.

"...Is this your diary?" he asked finally, and she snorted, shaking her head.

"As if I'd give that to you. No, that's my sketch book. I want you to have it."

He smiled at her, strangely touched by the offer, "Thanks, Goth-girl."

She shot him a grin, shutting the door and peering at him through the window, "Win for me, Bad-boy."

* * *

Duncan laid back in his bed, holding the book up to his face, and looking at it thoughtfully, before opening it to the first page. There, in spiky handwriting, a single line was scrawled.

_This book belongs to Gweneira M. If found, return or suffer a painful death._

He chuckled slightly, then marveled at how only the first page could've told him something he didn't know about her. He'd always thought Gwen was just...Gwen. He'd toyed with the idea of her being a Gwendolyn or a Gwyneth, but the name Gweneira had never occurred to him. He smiled to himself. It suited her; it was an unusual, unique name.

He turned the page, now looking at a rough pencil sketch of two people; one was her, and the boy who stood by her looked younger; her brother, Xavier, he assumed. They were making faces at each other, and he could almost picture how he looked in real life.

He flipped through the next few pages, all of which were done in detail; animals, wild life, random scenery of a park or a shady street. He liked how the pictures had no particular theme. He paused at one page; a rough sketch of Trent in his swimming trunks, before involuntarily scowling, the page crinkling under his iron grip. He realized what he was doing a bit late, and let go, noticing he had caused a small rip on the side of the page. Sighing, he continued to flip through the pages. He could tell that the drawings he was looking at were from when she was on the show; there were pictures of some of the contestants, and the sets, and a little caricature of her floating on a cloud of dollar signs.

He laughed, and flipped the page. And froze.

It was him. In his white undershirt. He turned the page. Him leaning against a tree, looking bored. Next page; him smoking. The next page; him, that day on the bridge, his arms on the railing as he looked up at the sky.

Unconsciously, his hand ran over the page, admiring the intricate detail that his, and the way she'd captured his expression. A slow, uncharacteristically soft smile spread across a his face.

He _would _win this for her.

* * *

**Here's the next chapter. I'm sorry for the delay, but I've been so busy :/**


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